Jude knows The Beatles, likes the song well enough. Like Near he's had it sung at him in the course of his life, but his detachment from various human social currencies means that he's never had a strong reaction to it, thereby dehydrating any potential mockery. Sometimes he has filled in the second line, if he was stared at with enough desperate expectation. On occasion Juliet had hummed the tune to him in bed, stroking his face.
If only Jude knew the origin of Near's nickname. He would never stop humming that song.
Beneath his unruffled affect, Jude is poised like a vulture above Guthrie's nebulous and undefined interpretation. He presses 'Play', lets the first ten seconds of the opening credits elapse, then pauses with weighty expectation. He cranes his neck a little to look at Guthrie around Near, the way Guthrie is looking around Near to look at Jude. The difference is that Jude isn't actually looking, only making a show of looking.
The lie, when it comes, makes Jude utter a laugh that resembles a sneeze. It's just -- he knows he should stick to his lines, pick a character and play to it, and spite is strong encouragement to do both. But to Jude's ears the lie sounds so pathetic. What poor actors they both make. Middle schoolers and their Christmas plays are more convincing.
"I came up from San Francisco. I travel a lot." This is true. He's smiling as he says it, the smile leaking into his tone and warming it, the laugh of someone amused with their own joke. He leans back so that Near is blocking a clear view of him again, and he looks away, straight ahead, smirking in profile, Smug Dipshit #27.
If only Jude knew the origin of Near's nickname. He would never stop humming that song.
Beneath his unruffled affect, Jude is poised like a vulture above Guthrie's nebulous and undefined interpretation. He presses 'Play', lets the first ten seconds of the opening credits elapse, then pauses with weighty expectation. He cranes his neck a little to look at Guthrie around Near, the way Guthrie is looking around Near to look at Jude. The difference is that Jude isn't actually looking, only making a show of looking.
The lie, when it comes, makes Jude utter a laugh that resembles a sneeze. It's just -- he knows he should stick to his lines, pick a character and play to it, and spite is strong encouragement to do both. But to Jude's ears the lie sounds so pathetic. What poor actors they both make. Middle schoolers and their Christmas plays are more convincing.
"I came up from San Francisco. I travel a lot." This is true. He's smiling as he says it, the smile leaking into his tone and warming it, the laugh of someone amused with their own joke. He leans back so that Near is blocking a clear view of him again, and he looks away, straight ahead, smirking in profile, Smug Dipshit #27.